


Ruined Dreams

by Chalybeous (Chalybeousite)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4296711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chalybeousite/pseuds/Chalybeous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though it broke her heart, she knew he could never be the man of her dreams.  But there was more to life than dreams.  A one-shot between F/Lavellan and Solas.  Quick comment: not sure when this would happen in game, but to my mind it has to happen before he offers to remove the vallaslin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruined Dreams

It was early evening, though at this time of year on the Exalted Plains, the sun was already low on the horizon. Anwynn Lavellan looked around the camp, her emerald green eyes flickering over every detail, no matter how small. She was agitated, and though they had made it safely back to camp, it had been a long day full of danger. And danger had made her wary, nervous, acting like a mother hen as she checked over her friends.

Next to the campfire sat Iron Bull, his broad shoulders slumped slightly, his horns seeming too heavy for his head. Dorian came up next to him, ducking beneath one of the thick horns to tend a cut on the Qunari’s arm. She watched them have a small exchange, too far away to hear, but knowing from Dorian’s light touch and Bull’s half-smile that their words were tender. Caring. The two of them had grown so close over the past few months…

She turned away before her heart could start to envy them.

Blackwall sat off to the side, away from the others. Ever the loner. Yet in his fingers he twirled a single feather. It was long and sturdy, perfect for making into a quill. The plumage was a lovely deep blue at the base, that faded into silver towards the tip. A silver much like Josephine’s eyes. Anwynn watched him stroke the feather, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle and thoughtful, and pretended she didn’t know exactly why he had picked up that plume.

She continued her surveillance to where Varric sat on a short legged stool outside his tent. On the grass beside him was a bottle of polish, and in his hands a rag, which he used to clean his singular and signature crossbow. His thick fingers glided over the wood slowly, as if massaging the contraption, figuratively soothing its knotted muscles after a long day of firing. Though his eyes focused on his work, they were seeing something else—someone else.

They were all her friends, and they were all feeling as she felt. Frustrated. Dissatisfied. Cheated. Bull and Dorian not only came from two nations at war with each other, they were also in a relationship that some found distasteful. Blackwall loved a woman too far removed from his station, yet he couldn't make his gentle heart let go. Varric had loved so deeply, so purely, and lost her so thoroughly, that it forever ruined him to ever try again. And she…

Her thoughts were interrupted when she saw him. Solas. She wouldn’t have noticed him—she never heard his silent footsteps—but the movement at the edge of camp attracted her eye. Almost too easily he slipped past the lookouts and disappeared into the evening shadows. It didn’t matter; she knew exactly where he was going. She, too, had seen it earlier that day.

It had been right after they’d closed a particularly nasty rift. They were tired and footsore, but high on adrenaline after their victory and bantering like noisy children. They’d passed by a crevice in the cliffside with a small stream trickling out. It didn’t look much more than a deep cut or a shallow cave. But then she smelled it on the wind, that distinct scent of untrodden grass warmed by the sun. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of light from within the crevice, and knew it went further than she at first thought. She knew it opened up on some small glen or meadow.

Instinctively she looked at Solas, and from his expression he knew it, too.

Not much further on, all thought of the hidden glen had fled her mind when they were ambushed by Freemen. After a tough fight, they’d barely managed to stumble back to camp. And though they were battered and tired and injured… like Solas, her mind returned to the glen.

She knew he would be heading there, and why.

In some ways, Anwynn knew Solas better than he knew himself—in other areas, he was like a stranger to her. She knew he couldn’t resist the temptation, the allure, of even the possibility of finding an area untouched by any person for untold centuries. Though it may prove to be little more than a small spring erupting from within the side of a mountain, it may also hold ruins containing memories undreamed of—yet. He would have to go there tonight. He would have to dream. And he would be alone.

That was where her understanding stopped. She didn’t know why he had to be alone, why they couldn't be together. They had shared… flirtatious… moments: a secret kiss, a formal dance, a chance brushing of knuckles as they walked side-by-side. There had been a few conversations where the words turned tender, hopeful, full of meaning and shared longing. Yet they remained apart.

She looked at her friends again. Bull and Dorian, their future so uncertain, but content to live in the moment and enjoy what they have…

Blackwall, knowing he’ll never have what he wants, but taking as much joy as possible out of the smallest things…

Varric, probably the most heartbreaking of all, spending the rest of his life feasting off of a few memories from long ago…

They all had one thing in common: they made due with what was available. No, it wasn’t satisfying, it wasn’t at all what they truly wanted—but it was all they could have, so they made it be enough.

Her mind made up, she started for the edge of camp.

“Something up, Boss?” Bull’s voice boomed from behind her. As she turned back, she heard him grunt while trying to gain his feet, Dorian’s attempts to keep him still as ineffectual as trying to stop the wind.

“No, Bull, nothing of concern. I, ah, need to take a walk, clear my head, or I’ll never get to sleep tonight.” She saw him nod and reach for his battle-ax, ever her self-appointed guardian. Exchanging a brief though long-suffering look with Dorian, she tried to talk him out of coming with her. “I can walk alone, Bull. There’s no danger nearby camp, and I won’t be going far. Sit back down and rest; you’ve earned it.”

She saw him waver, his longing to remain beside Dorian warring with his duty to protect the Inquisitor. The scales tipped when said mage took hold of his hand and pulled him back down, making the decision for him. Bull didn’t seem to mind too much, grumbling something just for appearance’s sake but allowing the touch. Anwynn gave Dorian a wink, before she turned away and started once more for the hidden glen.

Her trek was longer than she had told Bull, but she didn’t fear another ambush. By herself she could travel quick and silent, ghosting through the trees and remaining completely undetected. The sun setting off to the west lent a twilight atmosphere that turned solids into shadows, and shadows into wind. Eventually, however, she found the stream that meandered through the forest, and not much further on the small trickle that fed into it from the glen. Her toes gripping the rocks, she climbed up the slope to reach the crevice.

As a hunter for her clan, she had learned to track animals, to see those subtle signs of their passing: bent blades of grass, broken twigs of bushes, or the dirt brushed off of the side of a hill. Solas had disturbed very little on his way here, but in squeezing through the crevice, he had knocked loose some dirt and more than a handful of pebbles. Anwynn resisted the urge to smile over his clumsiness, as even her thinner body had trouble negotiating the short and narrow passage, made more difficult by the trickle of water running through the middle. She had to hold her bow in her hands to keep it from catching on the rocks overhead. Yet as she had known it would, the tunnel took a turn, and the next moment she stepped into a world the like of which she had never seen.

The sides of the crevice were no longer earth and rocks but sculpted marble, blocks once fitting together to make pillars and walls, but now were jumbled and broken. Yet the area continued to morph as she progressed. The passage widened, the ceiling lifted, the floor leveled out, and Anwynn’s steps slowed as she entered a vast chamber. Her large green eyes widened even further as she struggled to take it all in, the rich majesty of crafted stonework, the engineering artistry that kept the ancient structure standing. Even the invasive rashvine was struggling to cover every surface while conversely working to keep the erosion at bay.

The roof was long gone, lost to time and weather and stress, only a few jagged pieces of tile around the edges giving mute testimony to the graceful arc that had once been there. She lifted her face to look up through the hole, the stars beginning to spark and glitter on the darkening blue canopy.

This is when Solas first noticed her. He had thought perhaps some hare or other small animal had followed him, the noises coming from the partially collapsed tunnel were so faint. Finding the Inquisitor walking there had been a surprise, but one he supposed he should have expected. The surprise grew pleasant as he watched her, his emotions swelling with fondness and enjoyment as he savored her reaction. She strove to take it all in, her bottomless green eyes devouring the sights, her mouth parted in awe, the pink tip of her tongue slipping out to wet her lips. Slowly she turned a complete circle as she continued walking, her bow in hand sweeping through the air, her neck craned painfully. She started when she came face-to-face with him, as if she had been so overwhelmed with the ruined beauty that she had forgotten why she was there, whom she had followed. It amused him, witnessing her newfound appreciation for ancient structures grow with each sight and step, and he allowed a timid smile to warm his face.

She returned it, the dim light hiding the pink tinting her cheeks.

“Inquisitor.”

“Solas.”

Her title on his lips had sounded formal, impersonal. His name on her lips had sounded inviting, hopeful. Immediately he understood why she was there, not so much for the ruins as for him. It saddened his heart, their situation. Neither of them had gone looking for love, but there it was, sustained on stolen moments and empty whispers. For in his heart, he knew, “It could never be.”

So in tune with each others’ thoughts, after their months of studying the Veil and walks in the Fade and deep conversations, she knew to what he was referring. Yet he seemed unaware of the change in her attitude. Tonight, she had the opportunity to educate him. “That’s not what I want.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked, his voice like velvet on her ears, as gentle as the night.

She had the decency to blush a little darker. “Allow me to clarify. Yes, I do want love, to be loved by someone,” she started, “But I have never wanted a family, children, a legacy. All I want, all I truly desire, is one man, one night. Tonight.”

He shook his head, a gesture full of sadness and regret and impossibilities. “You know I… we… it can’t happen…”

“I’m not asking for eternity,” she stepped forward, barely keeping herself from pleading with him. She would not beg; he wouldn’t respond to that anyway. She had to convince him. She had to prove her choice to be logical and well considered. And she had a small idea where to start—with something else he loved.

“What was this place?” she gestured around them.

If he was surprised by her apparent change in topic, it didn’t show, other than a quick blink that may have been coincidence. “I believe this to be another ancient bath. You see the pool there? It was built over a natural spring, one that feeds the small stream that led us here. At some point, the slopes on either side of the valley collapsed, nearly sealing this bath from the outside.”

“A bath,” she mused, stepping closer to the center of the area. She could see the pool now; the darkening twilight had effectively hidden it. The water was very calm, on a level with the edges of the pool, the only ripples coming from around where the water had worn down one part to create the stream. She knelt down beside it, her fingers hesitating over the mirror-like liquid, so calm and still she didn’t wish to disturb it. “I see it now. Yet it didn’t last, did it? The bath?”

“Nothing lasts forever,” he agreed.

“No, but some things last a lifetime.” She stood and faced him squarely, her back to the pool. “Such as a moment. Or rather, the memory of a moment, of one shared night, can be kept within a person’s heart until their dying breath.”

His own heart gave a flop at the idea. If only she truly understood what it was she was proposing…

If only he could find the courage to tell her…

Yet the closest he could get to the truth, was to ask, “For the rest of your life? Or the rest of mine?”

Sensing he was weakening, like the trained hunter she was, she cautiously approached her prey and waited for her shot. “Yes.” Her lithe body stepped forward gracefully, her free hand reaching for his cheek, the tips of her fingers brushing lightly against his warm skin. “I have come to the conclusion that I deserve this, that I am worthy of experiencing pleasure, even a little happiness. And if one night is all I can have, then I will be content with it. I will hold its memory close to my heart, all the more precious to me because there will never be another. Not for me.”

“Nor for me.” His words came out with his breath, his lips moving while he exhaled. The next heartbeat his hand captured hers, his grip almost too harsh. “But I… I cannot… I dare not… allow myself… even to dream of it…”

She could tell through his fierce grasp and strangled voice, that she had stirred his emotions, brought them close to the surface. Her bow was strung, the arrow notched, her aim true. All she had to do was let go… “Yet you are here, tonight, to dream. I wish to dream, too, Solas. Share my dream with me.”

“If I…” he paused to swallow, unwilling to admit that he was actually considering this, “If I share this dream with you, will you truly be content? Will you truly never bring it up, never want for more, never press me for anything more?”

“Yes,” she answered. Seeing disbelief in his eyes, she added, “And if you wish it, I will leave now, and never ask this again.” And there it was, the arrow loosed, arcing slowly through the air, and he could either duck out of the way—or let it strike him.

Solas was trapped, his thoughts in turmoil, immobilized with indecision. On one level she knew exactly what she was asking, and he could believe she was sincere in her promise to be satisfied with one night. Yet on another level she couldn’t possibly fathom what consequences would arise from this. She would cherish the memory for the rest of her life—and so would he.

He… feared… the pain it would bring, the loss, the emptiness. Yet he was empty now or nearly so, hoarding up little moments, a stolen kiss, an accidental touch. Would one complete moment be so much more terrible than all those little moments he’d already saved? One moment that mattered, that meant something, to them both.

One moment, they both so desperately needed.

That’s when he realized: he did physically need it, like he needed air, or sleep, or food. He needed… Anwynn.

He’d been silent too long, and she’d taken his hesitation as rejection. He watched her smile, watched her bravely hold back her pain, watched her begin to turn away.

He clutched tighter at her hand, holding her in place, keeping her from slipping away. Keeping the opportunity from slipping away. He knew, he may very well regret it if he never held her; and tonight would be his one chance to fulfill that need. She lifted her face towards him, her eyes silently pleading for him to either let go of her, or let go of his self-denial. He finally chose the latter.

He dropped his hand away from hers, but not to let her go. Instead he cupped her face, the pads of his thumbs brushing the tops of her dampened cheeks, over the markings of her vallaslin. He tipped her face upwards, tipped her lips towards him and took a small kiss, like he was taking a sip from a cup. She wanted more and tried to lean further into the kiss, but his hands prevented her. She looked at him, wondering without words, her features expressing her question. The look on his face was familiar, the teacher, smiling at the eagerness of his student, calling for patience while he explained a new concept. It was the same countenance he used to wear, when he first started sharing with her what he knew about the Fade and the Veil and other mysteries. She understood the message: tonight she wasn’t the Inquisitor, but his pupil once more.

Assured of her compliance, he sipped again at her lips. He focused on the individual sensations, on the softness of her bow-shaped lips as he pressed against them, the gentle sigh humming through a tickle of breath falling from her nose, the herbal and anise-flavored taste of a healing potion lingering near the corner of her mouth, the faint smell of feminine sweat and endorphins after a long day of fighting.

He had closed his eyes, and when he pulled away and opened them he found her bright green orbs shining in the starlight. He smiled to himself, wondering if she was deliberately being obtuse, or merely so desperate to savor every moment that she didn't want to waste a single one of her senses. He reached up—they were nearly the same height—and kissed first one, then the other eyelid closed.

Anwynn stood there, her head tilted upwards, her arms hanging at her sides, and now her eyes closed. She didn’t want to stand there blind, she didn’t want to miss a single part of a single moment, but she trusted him. He wouldn’t ask her to do something, unless it was important. So she allowed him to close her eyes, to shut out her sight, and to focus on her other senses.

His hands still cupped her face, the fingers long and light against her skin, pressing slightly every now and then to subtly tilt her head. His lips, full and thick, moved across her skin, skimming her face like a gull skims the waves. He didn’t so much kiss her, as touch her with his mouth, seeking out the contours of her features and exploring them with his lips. It was a strange sensation, an intimate sensation, and it nearly robbed her of breath.

His own breath was warm, ghosting over her skin like a gentle summer breeze, carrying with it the scent of something woody with a hint of mint. She inhaled it through her nostrils, took his offered breath and filled her lungs. She held it within her, the thought that his breath was lifting her chest, that air that had been inside him was inside her, that oxygen that had sustained his body was now sustaining hers. It was sharing on a level so personal, a gift so pure, she couldn’t make herself exhale.

“Breathe…” he whispered across the shell of her ear and down to its tip. She realized she was being silly—there would be plenty of other breaths for her to steal tonight, she could let this one go. With a little giggle over her foolishness she exhaled, her breath—his breath—coming out in soft sputters.

Solas looked at her, his blue eyes hidden within shadows in the faint light. Anwynn was unique, exceptional, and quite a handful that kept him on his toes. He resisted the impulse to sigh, and instead he took her hand and led her over to the outer wall. He set his staff off to the side, and took her bow and quiver to place them next to it. Leaning his backside against the wall he spread his legs, lowering his stance until he was just a little shorter than her. Then he pulled her towards him.

She stepped up between his legs, eager and confused, wondering what he could be wanting her to do, knowing she shouldn’t ask. He didn’t leave her waiting for long, taking hold of her wrists and bringing her hands to his face. She smiled, her emerald eyes sparkling, and ever so slowly she cupped his face and kissed him as he had kissed her. She tried to prolong it, as he had done, keep it slow and light, barely touching his skin with her lips, flicking her tongue across his dimpled chin in a teasing manner, allowing him to steal the breath from her lungs. She closed her eyes and listened, listened to the sounds he made, the hitch in his throat when she nibbled at his ear, the elongated sigh when she found the pulse on his neck.

Anwynn thought she was being crafty, distracting him with kisses while her fingers began to undo his belt. He caught her almost immediately, his hands coming up to cover hers, his fingers entwining with hers and stilling her movements. She pulled away from his neck and peeked at him shyly from beneath long, dark blonde lashes, feeling guilty over her motives being so easily discovered. Yet he wasn’t mad, nor was he disapproving. If anything, his expression looked like he was enjoying this, enjoying her impish actions and obvious tactics.

She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better, or worse.

He mentally shook his head; Anwynn was certainly a challenging pupil. Usually, those things one finds the most challenging are also the most rewarding. With this in mind, he turned her around until she was facing away from him, her backside pressed against his groin. He could have scolded her when she wiggled suggestively, but instead chose to indulge her playful nature. Yet he was not about to rush things, not if tonight had to last forever. He waited until she stilled once more, before he would continue.

Her heart was racing, her breath heavy, the excitement wanting to build, but he was moving so slowly! She wanted, well, to be lying with him already, their entwined bodies naked, their passion mounting to the bursting point… But then the night would be over, their love spent, and she’d have to leave him. No, she realized, this was better—this slow going—however frustrating. It took a monumental effort, but she pushed down her impulses and shoved aside her impatience and calmed her erratic heartbeat.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of his hands over hers.

Ever so gently he moved, a little shift, another one of his suggestions. Curious she followed his lead, remembering her promise to herself to match his speed. His hands guided hers over her own body, down the front of her jacket to the sash at her waist. Together they moved across the supple fabric to the knot off to the side. With his touch featherlight, his chest pressed into her back, his chin hovering over her shoulder, he made her untie the sash.

She took a deep breath as the strip of fabric fell from their fingers, an answering sigh falling over her shoulder from his lips. She could feel his cheek press against her ear, his lips almost touching her skin, as his hands and hers traveled upwards. She fumbled at the buckles of her jacket, suddenly feeling clumsy and awkward, and perhaps a little shy. This was different—so very different—than any other time she’d undressed herself, akin to masturbation. Though his hands guided hers, it was ultimately her fingers that pulled the straps, her thumb that pushed the prong through the hole, her hands that dropped the leather ends free.

In truth, she was undressing herself for him.

A shudder ran through her body at this thought, at the amorous manipulation, at the consensual control. At last she understood the deeper meaning behind his technique, and she longed to try her hand at it. She could wait, however, wait until her jacket slipped off her shoulders. Wait until her protective vest fell somewhere off to the side. Wait until her belt was loosened, her tunic pulled out of the waistband, her hands made to accidentally brush the underside of her breasts.

She had waited long enough. She broke her hands from his control and spun within his embrace.

Solas had to laugh at himself; this time he rushed things. This time, the playfulness was on his side, the suppressed scolding on hers. It had been too tempting, her acquiescence too complete, for him not to try to push the limits of her submission. And now he would quite willingly pay the price for his impulsive actions. He allowed her to pull him to his feet, to turn him away to face the wall, to place her hands over his and give her control of his appendages.

Anwynn made him loosen the outermost belt at his waist, freeing the wolf’s hide he wore over his shoulder and across his back. Her cheek was pressed against the soft fur, but she didn't hinder its fall to the ground, still too eager to see what was underneath, to hold and explore and claim for her own. She didn’t want to be deterred again, however, so she kept her movements slow, light, only the merest twitch to encourage him. She had him reach up to his shoulders and shrug out of his mage robe, the handmade leather worn and patched and tattered at the edges in a charmingly rustic manner. The fingerless gloves came next, making him unwind the straps securing them to his forearms, one leisurely revolution at a time.

At long last they fell unneeded to the ground. She guided his hands up to his chest, intending upon lifting the wolf’s jawbone amulet—or whatever it was—off next. His hands stilled, however, his fingers gripping but not removing the talisman. She sensed there was something important going on, something she couldn’t quite fathom. She didn’t want to push him into doing something he didn’t want to do, so she let her hands slip off of his and instead spread them over his tunic.

She could feel his heartbeat, seemingly pounding in his chest, each beat strong and powerful and just a little fast. Was he apprehensive, she wondered. Was there something about that amulet that increased his power, gave him sharper focus, protected him while he dreamed? But they weren’t dreaming tonight. They were wide awake within these ruins, fulfilling a dream.

He took a deep breath, having finally reached the end of his private struggle, and lifted the jawbone over his head.

Nothing changed. He was still Solas, still the tall and enigmatic elven hedge mage who knew so much about the Veil, still the man who had stolen her heart with his silken voice and gentle touch and vehement loyalty. He leaned over to set the amulet aside, draping the leather straps lovingly over the top of his staff, keeping it from touching the ground. Then he turned to face her, his eyes a little sad, a little needy, a little pained.

They shared a languid kiss, their lips moving against each other, with each other. His hands were on her shoulders, the tips of his fingers rubbing little circles through the fabric to warm her skin. Her hands were on his chest, the palms feeling his nipples though his tunic, not brushing them or teasing them but simply there. Again she felt his heartbeat, strong and steady, and could imagine the unresting muscle moving, pumping, pulsing. The beat called to her like a siren, hypnotic, intoxicating, blurring her senses and claiming her focus for it alone.

Thrub-dub.

Thrub-dub.

Solas pulled back from their kiss, holding her gaze, a pleased expression on his face. She was confused, wasn’t sure what had happened that made him feel that way, not until he took each of her hands in one of his. One pair of their entwined fingers remained against his chest, directly over his heart. The other pair he settled over her heart.

Thrub-dub.

Thrub-dub.

She realized what he wanted her to know, that their hearts were somehow beating in tune, their pace exactly matched, like a pair of Dalish All-Breds, each hoof hitting the ground with the same rhythm and force. The thought made her start, causing her heart to skip and stutter, and ending up leaving them syncopated once more. Instead of a rebuke over her failure, however, he gave her an encouraging smile, understanding that this would take time for her to learn, and she had done very well very quickly.

If anything, his silent praise made her blush so deeply her cheeks felt like they were aflame. His lips, warm a moment before, were cool as they pressed against her rounded cheekbones, as if trying to extinguish the fire. He kept their hands in place, allowing her to feel their heartbeats, while he returned to their kiss.

She concentrated. She endeavored. She labored. She failed.

No matter how hard she tried, it seemed impossible for her to slow her heart, to intentionally match her beat to his. However it had happened that first time must have been a fluke—a coincidence—for try as she might, she could not exert her will over a muscle in command of itself.

“Don’t try so hard…” he hummed into the flesh of her neck, his mouth at her jawline.

She wanted to scoff at his suggestion. How else could she control her heart, unless she tried? How else could she succeed at anything, unless she acted, unless she willed it, unless she made the attempt? To her, it didn’t make sense, a solution couldn’t be seen; and her frustration mounted, robbing her focus and undermining her progress.

He pulled back from her a little ways, sensing her difficulties, and sighed. He saw her eyes open between moistened lashes, saw the little furrow between her eyebrows fill with discontent, saw her pale pink lips pout with the need to understand. But as things stood now, it wasn’t working.

There was another tactic he could use. He let go of her hands and took a half-step back. He knew she’d be hurt initially by this act, and he did his best not to look into those emerald eyes, not until he could be fairly sure she understood what he was doing. Instead he gripped the hem of his tunic and lifted.

Anwynn didn’t know what to think. She thought she had failed, that she was doing something wrong, that he would make them backtrack a ways—she definitely didn’t think he would move forward. But he did so, undressing himself further for her, almost rewarding her. Then as soon as his pale skin was revealed he stopped. The tunic fell from his nerveless fingers as he simply stood there, before her, the only movement coming from his chest as he breathed.

Hesitantly, as unsure of her own actions as she was of his, she reached up with one hand to touch his chest. The pads of her fingers brushed his hairless torso, moving across from one side to the other, until she found his heartbeat again. He leaned forwards then, the barest amount but she noticed, and this time she understood. She pushed a little harder against him, pressed a little firmer into his chest, until she could feel the beat.

Thrub-dub.

He waited, staring down at her, holding himself still.

Thrub-dub.

She took her hand off, and almost as if she was in a trance, she took hold of her own tunic and pulled it off her body. She didn’t wear small clothes, neither above nor below, but she felt no apprehension standing before him, her full breasts exposed to his view. He didn’t stare at them, didn’t take note of their larger-than-average size for an elf. Instead he held her gaze, his blue eyes pouring into her emerald eyes, and knelt down to the grass.

She didn’t know what he intended, but instinct made her drop to her knees with him. He smiled, that wonderfully gentle smile full of warmth and humor and enthusiasm, and cupped her face again. The kiss this time was the same as before, languid and breathtaking and intimate. His fingers caressed her the same as before, long and firm and knowledgable. The only difference really was that, with their tunics off, when he pressed their bodies together, she could feel his chest against hers. She could feel his heartbeat pulsing against her skin.

Thrub-dub.

And lost within the kiss, within the embrace, within the feel of flesh on flesh, her heart began to beat…

Thrub-dub.

She could follow it now without using her hands, his pulse and her pulse joining, beating as one heart, one soul, one will. He breathed into her mouth and she took it from him, held it a moment, and when she exhaled he was there to take it back.

Thrub-dub.

He pulled away breaking the connection, grasping her gaze and refusing to let go. Yet even without the physical contact she knew their hearts were still using the same cadence. Pride at her accomplishment poked at her chest, but she refused to give it a foothold. There was too little time, too little attention to spare; she wanted to focus everything—every part of her—on the man before her.

Moonlight spilled over the rim of the collapsed roof, the slanted rays dropping enough to catch his face, his blue eyes turning silver in the muted light, his short eyelashes turning ebony by contrast. Solas took her hands, entwining their fingers, sealing them together palms towards each other. He held their hands at their sides as his lips, full and slightly parted and wet, descended towards a warm patch of her skin. She sighed as he nuzzled the tip of her ear, the position holding their chests together, their heartbeats still in sync.

Thrub-dub.

Time was irrelevant, its passing marked by the double beat of their shared pulse, but not measured. It was simply moment-to-moment, sensations recognized and remembered, each aspect lovingly tucked away within their hearts. The ticklish feel of the night-cooled grass on her back. The herbal and anise taste lingering on her lips. The soft murmur of water overflowing the edge of the pool to form the stream. The natural and free scent of wildflowers carried on the breeze. The ghostly and otherworldly color of his skin illuminated in the moonlight. He rose up above her, making her briefly wonder when they had lain down. Then all thought or question left her mind as the moonlight fell full on his face, once more turning his eyes silver and canine.

With deliberate purpose he lowered his mouth to her throat, his lips pulled back from his teeth almost feral-like. She moaned and turned her face away, baring even more of her skin, allowing him free access to the vein throbbing with their pulse, to the tendons stretched taut across her neck. He kissed it all, playfully nipping at every raised hill, licking along every hollow, his searing breath branding every exposed inch of skin.

He rolled their bodies, his hands lifting her above him, supporting her, lowering her to him. She felt him graze against her collarbone, run his tongue along it from the center of her chest to her shoulder, before doing the same to the other side. When he turned his ministrations to a breast, when his mouth tried to encompass the whole thing as if he would feast on it, her body reacted of its own will. She arched her back, throwing her face up into the tender moonlight, grinding their groins together. She felt more than heard his moan, vibrating with need, thrumming with desire, growing with hunger.

She lifted herself off of him, not too far, just enough to pull herself out of his mouth so she could catch her breath. Then, her hands holding his arms to his sides, she descended upon him. She tasted of his flesh, the sparse sweat already beading at his temples, the steady flutter in his artery matching the timid pulsing in her ears. She slid lower along his body, her back arched once more, her hips dropping between his legs. Though still wearing leggings, she could feel his cock hardening against her stomach, constrained and frustrated within the tight leather.

She ignored it for now, staring at his body, wanting to see with her eyes what she had been feeling through her skin. Though he didn’t have broad shoulders or a barrel chest, Solas did have muscles, lean and defined thanks to a remarkable lack of fat on his body. There were long and curved shadows etched into his upper arms, tiny rippling waves down the sides of his ribs, faint and regular valleys across his stomach, and a pair of diagonal lines cutting down his hips from his waist to below his belt.

She wanted to see the apex of that cut, but she thought it was too soon. Instead she let her torso rest on top of his, her hardened nipples touching his, and stroked her fingers across the dome of his head. His scalp was smooth, free of either stubble or scar; it was a remarkable sensation to run her fingers over it without getting tangled in hair. She looked into his eyes, her expression slightly curious with a touch of playfulness. His answering nod and expression of indulgence gave her permission to do as she wished.

Her hands continued their exploration, her mouth joining in, traveling down his face, past his lips, underneath his jaw. She barely touched his throat, eager to explore and map and claim the rest of him for her own. She noted his torso was also without hair, the skin as unblemished as his scalp, and she had to wonder as to the extent of his hairlessness. He did have eyebrows and eyelashes, and she had seen the shadow of hair in his armpits, but there was only the faintest trail of soft, baby-like hair dropping from his navel. She wanted to know, the curiosity becoming need, and lifted her face towards his with another questioning look.

She almost couldn’t believe it when he once more gave her permission. It was like unwrapping a present, a gift she wanted and begged for and knew was within the wrapping. It took a monumental effort to remain at his pace, to savor each sensation, the cool hardness of the metal fasteners, the subtle groan of protest as the leather was moved, the sight of his abdominals tightening to pivot his hips off the ground. She gripped the waistband and pulled.

Not surprisingly, Solas didn’t wear undergarments either. The leggings were tight, peeling away like a second skin, making her work if she wanted to be rewarded. She didn’t fight the fabric, didn’t threaten to rip and tear to get at what she wanted, but worked it slowly down his hips, rolling it back, knowing the suspense would torment him as much as it tormented her. She brought it far enough to see the base of that v-cut, to see the top of a small patch of curly dark-gold hair, to see the outline of his shaft silhouetted beneath the leather.

She paused, suddenly unsure. She didn’t want this to end too soon, to be over too quickly. She wanted to savor each tidbit, like a fine confection, a bite-sized morsel that she held in her mouth until it melted. If she took it into her mouth now, however—if she slipped him past her lips, scraped between her teeth, slid along her tongue…

“Anwynn…”

Her name was like a breathy plea on his lips, a reverent prayer to gods so old, so ancient, perhaps they never existed. Yet the prayer held power, hope, faith that it would be answered. She understood, though she couldn’t have explained how she knew. He was praying to her, to end the torment, or rather to continue it on another level. And she answered his prayer.

She pulled back a little to her knees, heard the soft moan of frustration reverberating in his chest, and had to smile privately at what she had planned. Slow, he was teaching her, slow and careful and MEANINGFUL. Each moment was FULL of meaning, each action FULL of intent. And she would give him such a moment to last an eternity. Sitting beside his bent knees, her cool fingers reached beneath him and gripped the waistband once more. She peeled it slowly away, allowed his skin to feel the grass, the blades tickling his crack. She didn’t stop until his ass was fully uncovered, the leggings remaining stubbornly around his swollen cock.

He moaned again, wanting to wiggle and slip the leggings down further himself, but allowing her the control. Still, he had to give vent to the frustration, to the anticipation, to the richness of his feelings—both tactile and emotional. So he sighed, a loud and needy sound, almost irreverent within the ancient bath, echoing among the ruined pillars and across the mirror-like water.

She pressed against his knees, and he stretched out his legs, lowering them to the ground. The waistband of his leggings bit into his skin, tight, wrapped over the top of his cock and dipping down beneath his buttocks, holding his legs together. He could barely dare to breathe, his abdomen quivering with his need to be free and his determination to allow her control. She didn't keep him in limbo for long.

Anwynn took hold of that waistband again, from the front this time, one hand to either side of his cock. Then she pulled, the supple leather bending back and away, revealing the curly mass of soft hair, the dark-gold stained brown by the moonlight. She felt resistance, her pace stuttering, and very carefully increased pressure until…

Solas sighed, again, his eyes rolling up into his head, as at last he was freed from the constricting leather. He savored the feel of cool air on his sweating skin, the lack of restraint as his cock bounced upwards on his hip, the flutter of her breath fanning the short hairs. The barest crease formed between his brows as her lips descended upon his swollen and abused flesh, his upper lip curling just a little while she ran her mouth down the full length of his shaft.

She heard him rustling in the grass, his fingers grasping at the blades while he struggled not to arch his back, not to lose control and push himself into her mouth. She smiled, exposing her teeth, and raked them ever so lightly were her lips had been only a moment before.

She paused at the tip, flicking her tongue across the slit while her teeth held him in place, lightly, just beneath the flared head. His cock twitched but didn’t go far, the sharpness of her incisors adding to his pleasure as well as discouraging his escape. He became her willing captive as she devoured and sated her appetite.

She wrapped her lips around his shaft and lowered her head, slowly, her moist lips easing her passage down his length. She stopped just beneath the head, hesitated, then came back up, pulling a sigh from his chest. She lowered again, going just a bit further this time, increasing the pressure of her lips. And again withdrew. It was tortuous, going this slow, but every sigh she wrought from him, every twitch of his cock, every grasp of his fingers, made it all worthwhile.

With her mouth occupied, she had to rely upon her nose for breath. Every inhalation brought his musky male smell, boring through her nostrils, filling her chest with his scent. The closer she worked to the base, the stronger it became, headier, intoxicating like a well-aged spirit, addicting like a drug. She wanted more, wanted to reach the base, where flesh met curls, where the scent intensified. She tried her best to take the whole of him into her mouth, but when the head bumped the back of her throat, her gag reflex came into play. She pulled back, swallowed, and tried again, relaxing her muscles, willing him inside. His thickening shaft was too much for her, the cock too long, and she finally had to admit defeat. Unwilling to give up completely, however, she worked as much as she could into her mouth, while her delicately fingered hand worked the rest.

Solas felt himself bump against the softness at the back of her throat, felt her muscles reflexively constrict around him, and nearly lost it. His legs were still held together, barely able to spread them with his leggings stuck around mid thigh. He tried, wanting to ease the heat building in his groin, cool the sweat beading on his balls, delay the inevitable. She must have understood, again showing her quick wit and amazing intuition, and lifted herself off his cock. The next moment she was at his feet, tugging off his sole-less boots, and finally removing the last of his clothing.

That he lay naked before her caused him no discomfort. He was at ease, as relaxed—aside from his cock—as he would be if they were discussing the Veil in his chambers back at Skyhold. He looked down the length of his body to see her crouching beside his ankles, one of his hands behind his head helping to hold it up, his other hand spread across his abdomen. He cocked a knee, shifting the other leg away, and allowing the cool night air to ease his passion a little, to prolong it, to keep it from being over far, far too soon.

Anwynn wanted him. She couldn’t help it, her body responding of its own accord, her nipples tightening, her lips growing swollen and moist. Holding his gaze—though she wanted to rake her eyes over every inch of him—her hands began to fumble at the buckle of her belt.

He shook his head, minimally, and with that boyish smile on his lips. She felt the impulse to ignore it, to pretend she hadn’t seen it, to continue undoing the fastenings and removing her clothing, but she knew she wouldn’t. It took a monumental effort, but she stilled her hands, spread her fingers and pressed her palms into the tops of her thighs. And waited.

He didn’t keep her waiting for long. Oh, he wanted to, he wanted to lie there and devour her with his eyes, to permanently impress upon his memory the impish smile, the roundness of her cheeks, the sparkle in her mesmerizing emerald-green eyes. But she was already there, drawn with indelible ink on the pages of his thoughts, etched into the stone of his heart. Even before this night started, he realized, SHE was there, a part of him living without, and now living within.

Solas sat up, and she watched the play of muscles bunch and twist as he moved. His long legs placed themselves on either side of where she knelt, his groin just before her knees, his cock falling forwards to tap on her thigh a mere inch from her fingertips. He wasn’t looking there, however, and neither was she, their eyes locked, green to blue. His fingers reached for her, found her sides at the waist, and followed the belt around to her front. He seemed to have no trouble with the buckle, pulling at the leather and flicking the metal prong free from the hole. He gripped the buckle, still holding on to the other end of the belt, and slowly pulled back. Her belt slithered around her waist like a snake uncoiling, the leather making a quiet hiss as it slipped from his fingers, popped out of each belt loop, and finally slid from her waist. She shuddered, she couldn’t have said why, her nipples growing so hard they ached to be touched.

He grabbed her ass and lifted, making her kneel before him, her shins and knees pressed flat into the grass while the rest of her body stood erect. Her groin was in front of his mouth, his hands gripping the waistband even as his mouth breathed warmth through the fabric. She sighed, shuddered again, and placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. Her thumb pressed against the vein in his throat, the strong thrub-dub of his heart a calm and sure beacon on the violent sea of sensation assailing her.

Thrub-dub.

She closed her eyes, trying to quiet her soul, trying to ease the passion, trying too hard.

Thrub-dub.

She inhaled and felt his shoulders lifting beneath her hands, matching her breath. She held the breath a moment, and he joined her. When she exhaled, he remained with her, confident and supportive. She took another breath, felt him set his pace to hers, and her heart calmed yet again.

Thrub-dub.

A single heartbeat, two bodies, one love.

He had sat beneath her on the grass, his hands at her waist, sensing her difficulties. He had watched her brow crease with little furrows of frustration, the corners of her eyes harden with determination, and knew what sort of trouble she was having. He had sat there and willed her to see for herself, to understand what she needed to do, and she had not disappointed him. She opened her eyes and looked down at him, and he rewarded her with a smile. Anwynn was ever the gifted pupil. Their bodies in sync once more, he started to move.

His long fingers dipped into her leggings, taking a firm hold, and pulling them down. He didn’t hesitate as she did, he didn’t feel unsure or insecure—he knew what he was doing, though it was damning him to an eternity of solitariness. His fingernails raked gently over her hips as he lowered her leggings to her thighs, bunching the fabric around her knees. And there, just before his face, he unveiled the very core of her being.

He leaned forward, his nose burrowing into the tight mass of blonde curls, inhaling deeply the most intimate scent of Anwynn. He pivoted his head, bringing his mouth into play, pressing kisses across the top and sides of that triangular patch of curls. His tongue flicked out, licking at the tender flesh in the crease of her legs. He heard her moan, felt her hands grip his head, trying to find purchase, and he smiled. It was a pleasure, he had to admit, seeing how he had the means to make her lose control. She arched her back, pressing herself against his face, and he obliged, the tip of his tongue sinking into her hair and discovering that tiny nub of sensitivity.

Anwynn was on fire, alive with sensation, excited by the electric current coming from his tongue. Wherever he licked, wherever he sucked, wherever his teeth teased and threatened to nibble, she felt a million nerves come to life. The tip of his tongue found that tiny cluster of nerves, delved within its protective hood, and tormented it into submission. His fingers, his amazingly long fingers, came up between her legs, ghosting over the tender flesh of her inner thighs, and found the moistness all but dripping out of her. He stroked the swollen lips even as he stroked her clit, his posture lower than hers, beneath her, like a supplicant before a goddess.

He worshiped her body, paid it homage, gave every part attention, left nothing denied. The fingers of one hand petted and parted her lips, spreading the moisture, until he could slip them inside. His other hand reached up to find a nipple, already hard and tight and aching for affection, which he generously gave. His mouth continued to minister to her clit, thickening it, flushing it, sending jolts of energy from that tiny nub to the very heart of her soul.

She moaned. She threw her head back and exposed her neck submissively, moaning her pleasure, her lust, her desire, the sound echoing through the ancient bath as his moan had done earlier. It was primal, a base reaction, running on adrenaline and instinct and an innate drive to merge one’s soul—one’s very being—with another.

He kissed her there, and she lost herself.

Solas knew that she was close, that she had come close too quickly, and he almost chided her for it. He also knew, however, that she couldn’t help it, if her body was that sensitive, if she had held herself in denial for so long that she found herself unable to control her own person. His hands shifted to cup her buttocks, to lean her forwards across his length, to ease her onto the ground and let her catch her breath.

Anwynn came to her senses, lying in the grass. She hadn’t quite come, hadn’t quite reached that pinnacle, but she was still close, still feeling that heightened state of sensitivity, that tightness beneath her abdomen that wanted to squeeze just that little bit more so it could burst…

She took a deep breath, slow and deliberate, and calmed her racing pulse. One of her arms was flung across her eyes, and she lifted it to peek downwards. Solas was squatting on the ground, gently tugging off what remained of her clothing, his touch light, causing no more stir against her flesh than a gentle breeze. Yet everywhere he touched—everywhere he looked—her skin erupted in gooseflesh. She didn’t speak, didn’t move other than that slight shift that lifted her arm, but he looked up at her and smiled as if he knew she had just opened her eyes.

His smile was warm, welcoming, not judging her for her near failure, not scolding her for her lack of ability, but indulging her once more, giving her more allowance than she deserved. Finished with her clothing, he crawled up beside her, leaned over her, and captured her mouth with his. She filled herself with the moment, the taste of mint on his tongue, the smell of muskiness pervading his skin, the soft rustle as his fingers slid along her sweat-moistened flesh.

Feeling herself in somewhat shaky control—at least confident she could keep from coming within the next five seconds—she rolled their bodies, a quick and practiced move she learned from Bull. Solas was swept off his knees to end up beneath her, one of her legs between his, his mouth now imprisoned by hers. He wanted to laugh, to enjoy her power play, but he wasn’t going to give up with just a single shove. In an almost duplicate move, he switched their positions again.

Anwynn felt the move coming and was ready for it. She rolled with him, used the momentum to continue the roll, and ended up…

Splash!

Their bodies hit the water, warm and slightly sulfurous, a sluggish current tickling the hairs on their skin. Solas was the first to find his feet, his arms refusing to let her go despite her struggles, and he pushed himself to stand. The water wasn’t deep, perhaps up to his ribs, a level that would send little waves lapping at the underside of her breasts—if he would let her go. He held on to her, however, their mouths gasping for air even as they continued to kiss. She struggled a moment longer, her limbs clawing and grasping for air, even as her mouth refused to let him go.

Slowly she came to realize that they were in no immediate danger of drowning, and since he insisted on supporting her, she wrapped her legs around his hips. She heard him grunt at the sudden addition of her weight, however slight, and he took half a step back, staggered off balance even in the buoyant water. She grinned inwardly, pleased to make him suffer for putting her in such a demeaning position. The nerve of Solas, forcing her into the water, holding her like a damsel in distress.

He broke off their kiss to pull back, catch his breath, steady himself. The moonlight full on the water, both shining from above and reflecting from below, he could make out every detail of her face. Her short blonde hair was plastered to her head, a lock straying across her forehead and over one eye. Her eyes were half-lidded, the emerald color deepened in the lighting, though the sparkle was in no way lessened. Her cheeks were rounded and tinged with a rosy red, warmed from their passion and the water. Her bow-shaped lips were wet with saliva and water, parted to allow her deep breaths to pass through.

She took his breath away.

Unable to hold out any longer, needing to feel her enveloping him, he moved her arms to wrap around his neck. His hands then grasped her ass, lifting her up in the water, angling her forwards until her lips lined up on either side of his cock. Then he slowly started a rhythm, a gentle sway, a timid rise and dip, barely enough to disturb the surface of the water. His shaft rubbed outside her, rubbed from between her lips upwards to that hooded nibble of nerves. He felt her chest vibrate with a tiny hum. He felt her limbs tremble with that deepest pleasure.

He felt HER.

Holding her in the moonlight, feeling the passion between them build, sharing every nuance of every heartbeat… he began to wish eternity would never come. All he wanted, for every moment from then on, was this one sensation, this one experience, this one woman. She was his, in body and heart and soul, and he was equally, fully, undeniably hers. If he could have stopped time, if he held that power, he would have selfishly done so, for her pleasure as well as his own.

Time continued to hold its power, however, the moonlight already slipping towards the edge of the opening in the ceiling. Soon the moon would sink out of sight. Soon the night would end. Soon the moment would be over, passing from reality into memory, forever relived in dreams, never to be experienced again.

He looked into her face, rising and falling before him like a gentle breath, trying yet again to savor each detail. The moonlight fell full upon her hair, bleaching the color from the blonde strands. Yet he knew exactly how her hair looked, the strands longer on top though not long enough to reach her neck, framing her face, cupping her ears. Every so often there were whimsical streaks of green, little trails of mint that played peek-a-boo whenever the wind mussed her hair. She had never revealed just how she had dyed her hair that color, or why, but it was a part of her playfulness, her impishness, that he loved so dearly.

He longed to see that color restored, to see the bright yellow, like captured sunlight, and those mischievous highlights, like blades of grass hiding within a wheat field. How he yearned just then for the day, for the sunlight to break through the ruined ceiling and strike her hair, bringing her to life. But the coming of day would mean the end of this night, this moment, and he was not quite ready for it to end.

She floated in the water, half buoyed by his hands still on her ass. She used her arms, braced around his shoulders, to match his rhythm, to rise and fall, rubbing her lips along the length of his shaft. She yearned for him to enter her, to fulfill her, to finish the torment and bring the climax of the experience… even though she knew that such a thing would mean the end of this night, this moment, this love. Selfishly she didn’t want it to end. Selfishly she wished for the power to stop the relentless march of moon and stars and sun. Selfishly she wanted to keep him all to herself, forever.

The water was slightly abrasive. Though her own moisture was easing some of the rubbing, she felt that not all of the ache from where their bodies joined was pleasant. She must have whimpered or made some sound of distress, for he was there, kissing her, easing the pace, slowing to a stop. His lean arms pulled her close, held her as if he would press her body into his own, as if he could meld flesh and bone into one. Then he made for the edge of the bath.

She sighed with bittersweet satisfaction, knowing the end was coming, wanting it and dreading it with equal amounts. He held on to her, stubbornly continued to carry her, lifting her out of the water as he found the steps and climbed onto the shore. She shuddered as the cool night air feathered her skin, brushing away the last of the warmth from the water. The heat from him remained, however; neither the flush of passion nor the swelling of lust diminished in either of their bodies. His cock, pressed between them, nudged her clit with each step, keeping both of them heightened and tense and aware.

He settled them onto the soft ground, the blades of grass tickling their skin as he first knelt, then sat, keeping her on his lap. Solas stared at her, his eyes a mystery, silhouetted from behind by the passing moonlight. She knew he could see her face, read her like one of his books, and she let go of any thought of what the morning would bring. Instead she focused once more on the moment. On each other. On the steady thrub-dub of their shared heartbeat. She inhaled with him, exhaled with him, moved with him.

He eased back a little, and she felt the tip of his cock at the entrance to her pussy. His hands cupping her ass, he gave a slight pressure, brief, letting her know it was time, time to reach that pinnacle, time to fulfill that insatiable lust, time to finish joining their lives. Her legs wrapped around him prevented her from gaining any leverage, but her arms across his shoulders allowed her to pull herself up, just a little, just enough for him to tilt and slide home.

Home. That was what it felt like. Returning to the place where you belong, where you’re safe and comfortable, the place you possess—and it possess you. Both Solas and Anwynn had found it, sitting there face-to-face, his cock slipping between her swollen lips, penetrating her most intimate depths. They were home.

It didn’t take long, only a few strokes, before she felt the upswing of excitement that came just before a climax. She moaned, her breath heavy, her heartbeat sure, her body thrumming with pleasure. It raced through every part of her, up and down her spine, flowing through her limbs, filling her head with a continual giddiness she had never before experienced. He was there as well, feeling her trembling around his cock buried so deep inside, feeling that elation continually rip apart his body over and over and over. He held them there, right on the edge, like the rush of adrenaline before taking a dangerous leap.

How long it lasted she couldn’t have known; there was no longer a way to measure this time, this moment. She knew it continued, the vibrating and spasming and heady excitement, far, far longer than ever before. It kept coursing through their bodies, again and again and again, as if she was looking at their climax from behind a glass ceiling, just beneath that tipping point and completely helpless to reach it. She started to pant, her body bursting with sweat, her heart racing out of control. In one breathless scream she cried, “Solas!”

He prolonged it, savoring it, just a moment longer. As the last rays of moonlight left the bath he changed his angle, ever so slightly, and planted himself balls deep within her moist passion. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, unable to find purchase due to the sweat pouring out of his pores. She gasped his name again, unable to catch her breath as her climax tore through her on a rampage, unmaking her. He felt her around his cock, spasming out of control, firm and supple at the same time, her climax continuing and continuing and continuing. And he had caused it. He had given her this ultimate pleasure. That final thought tipped him over the edge after her.

“Anwynn!” came his choked response.

He thrust primally into her, pounding his seed into her, pouring his very soul into her. He sighed, a very satisfied “ahhhhhhhh” sound that was broken at every thrust. It was a joyous sound, a victorious sound, happy and pleased that they had shared this moment, this climax, together—so close, so completely, so continually. He rocked his hips, slower and slower, until he finally came to rest.

At some point she had closed her eyes, and briefly she jealously wished she could have that moment back, to keep her eyes open, to savor the sight of his face as he came. Opening her eyes she found him watching her, a smile on his lips, a happy-and-living-in-the-moment light in his eyes. She was within his strong arms, held safe and secure as she came back from that dizzying height. And she knew, at that point, that was all that really mattered, that they had each other, held each other, shared each other in one moment of time.

His smile turned boyish, playful, like he had just gotten away with some childish mischief. She smiled in return, the palm of one hand touching his cheek tilting his face, lifting his smile to hers. His full lips moved strongly against her, mouthing her, keeping them together even as their bodies slid apart.

He was happy. Content. Fulfilled. Feelings he had never experienced before, never envisioned a situation where he could own such emotions. He owned them now, and he knew they would forever be his. Just as she would forever be his. Though time and danger and even death would try to separate them, this moment had branded her into his soul.

“Ma vhenan,” he breathed, his voice like a prayer, calling her his heart. And he spoke truly.

They dressed in silence. There were no words for either of them. Their moment was over, the predawn giving a false light to the eastern sky. Time had started once more, turning future to present, and present to past, and past to memory.

Anwynn smiled as she slid her quiver over her shoulder and picked up her bow. Her muscles were tired but loose, relaxed and overtaxed. A giddy little smile played at the corner of her mouth, one she indulged in for now, knowing she’d have to hide it before they returned to camp. She followed Solas out the tunnel, straddling the stream, and out into the open.

It was as if leaving that ancient place ended any lingering part of their moment. She was once more the Inquisitor, he once more her advisor. She sighed, letting it go, letting it end, knowing she could keep it preserved within her heart.

Solas glanced over his shoulder to see her face, to catch the remnants of that bittersweet regret and longing. He knew he would cause her grief, that she would continue to long for them to be together, something he could never give her. Guilt clouded his heart, threatening to ruin their moment, and with a lowered head he spoke softly, “Ir abelas.”

“Tel’abelas,” she countered, almost scolding him.

Timidly he lifted his pale sapphire eyes to her deep emerald, searching her face, trying to read her as he had done so many times before. No, she wasn’t sorry over what they had done. She didn’t regret any of it. If anything, she loved him even more for having given her all he could—as little as he felt it was, it was far more than she could have ever dreamed.

And she knew in her heart, whatever dreams she may have once held for herself, her future, her life, were now ruined, forever tainted by their one perfect moment out of time.

Ma vhenan: my heart, a term of endearment  
Ir abelas: I'm sorry  
Tel’abelas: I’m not sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Bugaboozled. I cannot draw with lines, so I must draw with words.


End file.
